


Lover, please stay

by Sourcherrymagiks



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, all the feelings, cuddlesmut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26211673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourcherrymagiks/pseuds/Sourcherrymagiks
Summary: A slip of the tongue.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 35
Kudos: 153
Collections: Carry On Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The amazing artwork for this is by the awesome   
>  [Toonysart ](https://toonysart.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This project was originally the idea of [ Warrior Bee of the Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorBeeoftheSea) and all credit for the fantastic plot is hers. 
> 
> Thank you to the absolutely wonderful [ Sconelover ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover) for beta’ing this for me 💕💕💕

**Baz**

“Snow?” I shout as I let myself into our apartment. It’s too quiet altogether. 

Then there’s a crash and some swearing and the sound of expensive things becoming recycling before he appears in the hallway. 

Merlin. 

He’s enough to make a basilisk faint. 

  
  


I gave up trying to get him to wear a top (any top) years ago. If I’m being entirely frank, it was a lacklustre effort. And it had the entirely predictable effect of making him  _ less _ likely to wear clothes. 

Today he’s wearing nothing except for cut-off tracksuit bottoms in that oh so flattering shade of office-equipment grey. I’m certain that is all he has on. 

Suddenly my mouth is dry.

I’m fixed to the spot. 

Blue eyes, bronze curls, all my teenage dreams improved, polished, alive. 

I expect him to ravage me. (That is his brand, after all.) (Is growling a brand?)

I quickly put down anything fragile and take the precaution of lowering my centre of gravity. I’m braced for an impact that doesn’t come. 

Instead he saunters down the hall until he’s just in front of me and takes my face in his oversized, clammy paws. 

“I missed you, you utter twat.” He leans forward and I press my forehead to his. I just want to soak him in, breathe him in, absorb the sense of him that I’ve been missing all week. The constant aching absence in my periphery. 

We’ve spent so little time apart that we don’t have a ritual for coming back together. I mean, violence and sarcasm worked at Watford. After the long summers spent missing his heartbeat. But that’s not sustainable or desirable now we have unlimited options.

This works though. The touching. 

The way he runs his thumb along my jaw. The way his breath warms my face. The curve of his spine under my fingers.

I relax into him at the exact point he smashes his mouth into mine, desperate and clumsy as the first time he ever kissed me. Because he’s still Simon Bloody Snow and he has no chill. 

As it happens, neither do I.

His hands are twisting my shirt in a way that, experience tells me, will render it fucked. 

His mouth is, well, his mouth is fucking incredible. I’ve missed him so much. 

What I should do, the sensible response, is to calm him down a little (as much as one ever can) and try and get to a room with furniture. 

What I actually do I lift him up and let him wrap his legs around me. 

  
  


**Simon**

I’ve missed him. 

It’s been shit. 

I’m just used to him being right there. I’m used to the snarky commentary on my daily life coming from him these days. (It feels wrong when no one is around to raise those eyebrow and  _ sigh  _ when I cram four french fancies into my mouth at once) (or when I buy a box of french fancies that aren’t Mr. Kipling brand) (that last one was a mistake and I won’t make it twice.) 

Also he’s stunning. I mean, stunning. He’s one of those people who just look expensive and together full time. He does wake up like that. 

I try to be all grown up about him being back where he belongs but I need to kiss him. 

So I do. 

He has his hands under my arse as he presses me up against the wall. I fucking love it when he does the whole vampire strength thing and he bloody knows it. 

I tighten my legs around him so he can feel exactly how much.

“I missed you, you fucker, never leave me again.” I kiss him again, hard and deep and long.

Because he is who he is and we are who we are, he can’t just agree. He can’t resist a snark when he moves his mouth down my jaw line; “It was a week, Snow, don’t be a drama queen.”

But his hands are in my hair and his chest is flush against mine and I can tell he feels exactly the same. It  _ has _ been too long and he  _ should _ never leave me again.

So I tell him what I want. I spent too long not telling him that. I spent too long not knowing that. Now he’s right here. Now I know. “Baz, love, I need you, please?” 

  
  


[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/186070339@N02/50289061238/)

**Baz**

I cannot think of a single reason to make this difficult or try to argue with him. I want him too much. Need him. 

I disentangle myself from him and bend him over the hall table. He gives me a cheeky grin. It’s all the justification I would usually need to torment him. Today, though, I have no desire to. 

I yank his ridiculous shorts down a little harder than I might have done otherwise because it simply doesn’t  _ do _ to let him get out of hand. 

He leans into me as I stroke over his freckles, sinking to my knees almost involuntarily. 

“Please, love, please, oh fuck yes, please.” His voice is raspy and his hands scrabble for purchase as I gently slide my thumb over his hole. Revel in his gasp. Then lick him hard and soft again, again, again. I live for these moments when he’s open and willing under my tongue. When he lets me so close. When he doesn’t hide anything. 

He’s writhing and sweating and trying to get  _ everything _ . 

Always such a greedy little gremlin. 

I grip his arse so I can spread him open to give him exactly what he wants. This has the added advantage of preventing him from suffocating me. (Can I even be suffocated? Would I even mind?)

“Oh love, oh, you feel, that feels, it’s so  _ hot _ . Yes, more, right there, so good.” The words are like a torrent pouring out of him. Each sound flames into my flesh like a molten drop. I’m going to burn alive here and he hasn’t even touched me yet. I haven’t even taken an item of clothing off. 

I slip my tongue inside him and he writhes and moans, his knees almost buckling. 

“Is that a good start on making it up to you, my love?” I say as a swat his arse cheek. I’m almost embarrassed at how fucking transfixed I am at the skin under my hand getting red. Pathetic. I do it again solely to verify my own weakness. 

“Yes, yes, fuck, baby, please?” 

Every cell in my body should shudder away from the scenario where the heir of the House of Pitch is being referred to as ‘baby’ as he kneels at the arse of the Chosen One. 

I do shudder. 

But not with wounded pride. 

**Simon**

Great Snakes. 

I forget how this goes. 

No. 

That’s not right. I remember loosely. Snatches of feeling, odd sensations, glimpses of how we move together. 

But I can’t put it together until I’m in it. 

Until he drowns everything else out. Until all there is in the whole wide universe is him. Him in all the places he touches me and all the places he doesn’t quite. 

“Love, my love.” 

I hear the words in my voice. They used to be stuck inside but now I couldn’t keep them in if I tried. 

It makes him groan and it makes him give me what I want. 

There is no frustration like being caught between Baz Pitch’s fingers in my arse while his hand is on my cock. I don’t know how to move to get the most. I don’t know that if I get it right it won’t  _ kill _ me. 

He’s still dressed, which is a crime against humanity really. 

“Baz, clothes off now, show me please?” 

I can’t see his face but I know his eyebrow will be doing that thing because he’s a  _ villain _ . 

“Are you sure? This is a very nice outfit.” He’s a  _ bastard _ and a  _ villain _ . 

“Yes, yes please, fashion after fucking please.” We both laugh as I say it but then I grumble as he lets me go. I did not think this through properly. 

  
  


**Baz**

This shirt deserves to be taken off slowly and with respect. However, I am all too aware that Simon has no intention of waiting. He looks wrecked already. His hand is shaking as he pushes his sweaty hair out of his face. 

I have no idea if he does it on purpose. The whole sexy hand in hair performance. But as he’s a manipulative gnome I would hazard a guess at ‘yes.’

He looks me up and down and  _ licks his bloody lips.  _

That is it.

In the shortest amount of time that is possible (without an excessive use of magic) I’m out of my clothes and applying lube to my cock with unsteady hands. 

He bends back over the table without prompting and reaches back to run a finger over his beautiful arse. I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth before pushing into him. We both whine at each other, into each other, at the fucking  _ bliss _ of being home. 

He’s altogether too far away, bent the way he is. He whimpers as I pull him flush against my chest, one hand on his throat so I can turn his face into the bruising kiss I need. He gives to every prompt, moves exactly how I need him to, follows where I lead. It’s blindingly good. 

I slide a hand down over his chest and belly until I reach his cock. It’s dripping with precome, soaking my hand. 

“Fuck Simon, that’s so hot, you are fucking beautiful like this, so good, fuck, baby, yes, give me more baby, please?” I have no idea where the stream of barely coherent porn talk is coming from, but it’s like a dam of cliched filth has burst inside of me. Worst of all,  _ I mean every fucking word.  _

Simon moans like he likes it. Like he loves it. He is so close. Gasping and tensing and scrabbling are my hips to get impossibly closer.

The last bubble of embarrassment pops inside of me and I give into it.

“Simon, fuck, Simon, come for me please? Give it too me, I want to see you fucking lose it, yes, oh fuck, Simon, fucking hell, baby, I want you like this always, like this, so fucking hot for me, fuck Simon, you have to marry me.” 

His head snaps back onto my shoulder as he completely gives in to a shuddering orgasm which rips a scream from his throat and splatters come over my arm and his belly. 

He arches into me as he lets each wave of feeing smack through him, pulling me into a kiss which is tender enough to let me know that he fucking heard all of that. 

_ All  _ of it.

**Simon**

My mind is in a lot of places, but the overriding thought is that I need to taste his cock. All the other stuff can wait for a minute. 

I pull away and turn as I drop to my knees. I don’t hesitate. I never do these days.

I can taste me on him and I’m not mad about it but I want to taste just him. It won’t take long. He’s already wound tighter than I’ve seen him in a while. I grasp his thighs and sink my mouth down his cock until the hair on his belly tickles my nose. I gag a bit but I want it like this. He tries to back off a bit and I pull him closer. Gripping tighter, swallowing deeper.

He can’t stop talking and it’s so adorable. I think he probably hates it but I fucking love it. I hum every time he says something I really like. How much he loves me, how I feel like home, how I’m so good, how he’s never going away again. 

I had no idea that a compliment from Baz would make me so bloody hard but I can feel myself getting worked back up from it. 

When he comes it’s my name he screams.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before he recovers enough to tut at my manners (or lack of). I dunno if I should say anything but I’ve never had any luck with too much thinking. So I do. 

“Yes. I will. I do.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Simon**

Baz is enjoying this. He’s revelling in it like the manipulative twat he is. He keeps smirking at me. He’s going to start winking if I don’t get a move on.

“More wine, Si? Pork pie? Are you sick?” Penny is fussing. She fusses a bit occasionally because of the ‘me almost dying’ thing. I pretend not to notice and it’s easier to do that if I take a scotch egg. 

We are in the garden of Penny’s flat. It’s tiny and under a flight path but, as gardens in London go, it’s pretty good. We emphatically don’t talk about how this is a one bedroom flat and Shep appears to live here. 

We are excellent at not discussing things.

I need to discuss this one though. This one is a bit important. 

“So, Pen, gotta ask you something like, for your help kinda thing.” 

So fucking eloquent, Simon. I shake my head at myself. I mean, it’s Penny so she is not going to hold it against me but I wanted to do it properly. I huff a bit as I sit back. 

She waits. Because she might be impatient and bossy and a right handful, but she does quite like me. 

“Snow is asking you to help him on a mission, a quest if you will. It won’t be easy. The stakes are high. The chances of embarrassment are high. Simon will almost certainly make you regret agreeing to it.” Baz only stops this nonsense because he’s laughing too hard to get any more words out. 

Penny and Shep exchange a look of tolerance that I’m used to seeing. It doesn’t normally extend to Baz though. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was _nervous._

I run my hand over his thigh. His muscles are tight, he’s bouncing his knee a little. He _is_ nervous. Now I do need to get on with it, otherwise fuck knows what will happen. 

“Penny, I haven’t got anyone like, family like, so I wondered if you would, like, be my best bridesmaid friend and make sure I don’t fall over up the aisle or get too drunk or forget the rings or anything.” I look up to see her and Shep looking at me with mouths wide open. 

The whole garden goes still. The breeze isn’t even ruffling the tablecloth anymore. Baz gives my hand a squeeze and I try to swallow. 

Shep breaks the silence because he hasn’t talked in ten minutes and he must be bursting with words.

“So, you two are getting married? Is there a special spell for proposals? Are you planning on binding yourself across dimensions, because I’ve heard of that going bad if you accidentally access the demon portal, losing limbs and everything. But either way that sounds awesome. Am I allowed to come or is it Speakers only?”

He’s still talking when Penny comes around the table to give me a big hug and squeezes Baz’s hand. He’s still talking as she pretends to pour more drinks so she can wipe a tear away. He’s still talking as she nods at me. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in. 

**Baz**

Against the barrage of Shep’s incessant questions, comments and queries it is virtually impossible to form a coherent thought, let alone vocalise said thought. But I have to concentrate, because if I can get a word in edgewise it might, just possibly, shut him up for a moment.

“Shep, I would very much like you to do the same for me, if you would? No specialist abilities required.” 

It does shut him up. For precisely one breath. Then he’s off again. 

I think he agreed, though. 

I thought long and hard before asking him to do this, but honestly there is no one I’d rather have by my side (except Simon, obviously). And one never has to explain to Shep about _feelings._ There is no need to expound at length what he means to you. Because he assumes everyone loves him. It saves time. 

Penny clamps a hand over his mouth and I admire her lack of subtlety and her restraint. She must have a silencing spell on the tip of her tongue all the time. I wonder if she can get them to stick?

**Simon**

Penny keeps her hands over Shep’s mouth long enough to give him a chance to work out that she is asking Magickal questions and he wants the answers just a bit more than he wants to talk (it looks close, though).

“What did your parents think of the proposal? Were they shocked? Was it beautiful?”

Baz coughs and grabs a napkin before the Prosecco that’s coming out of his nose can get on his trousers. 

I have no idea what she means about his parents, but the second she started asking questions it hit me like a harpy. 

We have no cover story. 

We are terrible liars. 

Penny is an excellent interrogator. 

We are completely fucked. 

I dare not look at Baz. I dare not look at Penny. 

“Baz? You did use magic, right? After all the time we spent researching?” 

“Well, not exactly what we talked about, per say,” he mutters.

I’m torn between going all smushy at the thought that he had planned to ask me and dying of laughter. Laughter wins. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Snow,” he chides as I slide down in my seat. 

“I’m not sure I’d quite call it _magic._ Strictly speaking” then I’m off. Snorting again. 

Shep catches on first and tries to hide his laughter behind his hand. Penny is last but least subtle.

“Basilton Grimm Fucking Pitch, you utter tart. I can’t wait to read that entry in the Grimm-Pitch marriage rites.” She laughs like a horse until tears run down her face.

Baz looks mortified for about three seconds, then says, “He is an irresistible siren. If you must know, Ms. Bunce, I was powerless against him.” 

I lean my head into his shoulder, enjoying the way he shakes with laughter, shaking myself.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/186070339@N02/50428739451/in/dateposted-public/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Baz**

He’s toying with my collarbone, idly running his fingers over my chest. Keeping it casual so far, but inching nearer to setting me on fire by the second. I trace a finger down his spine, making him shift closer into my side. He sighs into my neck. It deserves better descriptions, this moment, but I can’t form metaphors (to my endless shame). I simply cannot hit on the correct similes when it comes to this. All the vocabulary I have is too flimsy or too hackneyed. We need a new language. Just for this. 

“So...” he says, and then stops. 

“You appear to have stalled, Snow, so what?”

He slaps my chest. “Why do you always have to be such a twat? I was going to be all serious and stuff.” He most certainly does not sound like he was going to be anything of the sort. 

“Don’t let me stand in the way of your deep and meaningful pronouncements.” 

This time he twists my nipple which is poor sportsmanship all around. 

“I was going to say, you knob, that if we have to do this whole proposal thing in front of everyone. If we’re claiming it’s a re-enactment of the actual proposal then I might feel quite bad. You know, because of the lying. But I think I have a solution.”

He’s smirking and he thinks I don’t see it. He’s been plotting and he thinks I’m not onto him. Oh, Simon. 

“Enlighten me as to your ethical musings, my love, I’m sure we can make some accommodations to ease your delicate sensibilities.”

“Well we could always re-enact the actual proposal here, now, before we go down and do the proper one. Then I wouldn’t feel so guilty.”

I laugh and so does he.

“Simon Snow, you are a disaster. I’m afraid you will have to make do with me fucking you in here, though. I don’t think it would do to bend you over the hall table of my ancestral home.”

He motions towards the writing desk in the corner and fucking winks at me. 

Crowley. Fuck. 

**Simon**

It’s a big deal. Today. I haven’t been to many of these magical rites of passage and I never had any of my own. 

Penny has explained to me over and over again what will happen and what I need to do (look pretty, say ‘yes’.) but Baz won’t bloody tell me what he’s going to do. How he’s going to do it. 

My knees go a bit weak when I think about those words he said and how he said them and how it felt. Today won’t be like that though. Today people will be looking at me and feeling sorry for me. Urgh. I’m already sweaty in the stupid shirt Baz made me wear. 

He was using all of his words and I didn’t understand a lot of them but I got the gist of it. Formal event. Must not look like a scratter he dragged in from the bus station. At the very least there would need to be items of clothing with buttons. 

Like buttons have ever stopped me. 

**Baz**

As we lean against the counter in the kitchen, drinking coffee, Daphne comes bustling in looking utterly flawless (of course). She stands near Simon and he leans his head on her shoulder. She pets his cheek. They look so much like family. He looks like he belongs. 

Daphne is the most wonderful person one could ask for in almost any situation. I assume she would be, even if not for her magic. But her magic. It’s so soft. She isn’t a powerful Mage but she sends out waves of magic perpetually. 

It feels like being offered the cake batter-covered spoon to lick or like a kiss on the forehead when you skin your knee. It feels like a soft place to land. 

Her magic is a mother’s magic. 

I suppose that’s why Simon cannot get enough of it and why I rebel a little. 

My mother would have given the kiss but then shown me how to heal the wound. The cake would have never passed through batter form. You needed to land prepared. My mother was different, powerful, and I loved her. I understood her. 

Simon had nothing, so he takes everything Daphne has to offer. It is lovely really. 

“Ready?” she says gently to Simon, always so careful of him, especially when it involves tradition. “You just have to look handsome and happy and say ‘yes’ at the end.” They both chuckle and she hugs him again. 

Then my father makes his entrance. He is already failing to look stern (no one can resist Simon’s Labrador energy), but then Mordy flits past him and ruffles his hair and he gives in, all at once, beaming. 

“Basilton, shall we?” He beckons to me so I walk out with him. Like I’m supposed to. I give Simon a grin that probably comes off like a grimace, and then we’re outside. The guest list was thankfully kept to immediate family only. That is traditional, but of late these things have become more of a spectacle. 

Thank Merlin for Daphne’s strict sense of propriety. (And the residual community fear of Simon potentially blowing up onlookers).

“Your mother would be so proud, Basilton, I hope you know that.” It’s the closest my father can possibly get to sentiment. I understand and I squeeze his hand so he knows I know. 

Well. This is it. If I fuck this up I will look like the biggest pillock since Paul Daniels. No pressure. 

**Simon**

When Daphne leads me out to the garden, I try not to look around. I know Penny and Shep are here and all the little Grimms. I don’t need to know anything else. 

Baz is stood in the centre of the lawn, fiddling with his cufflink. He’s wearing jeans that look so fucking posh that they probably have their own car and a dark blue shirt with a silvery pattern on it. I didn’t get a good look earlier (because I was trying to get him back out of it) so I’ve no idea if it’s a pattern.

He looks like the cover of Vogue. 

I take his right hand when I reach him. Exactly like I was told. I glance at his face but he’s not really seeing me. He’s too far into the spell to see anything. It’s hard to be with him like this. I don’t like the taste of my own jealousy. I miss my magic. It hurts. Always. 

But some part of me understands that his magic is mine too, now. Partly. It’s partly for me. This. Today. This is all for me. And I love magic and I love him. I shake off the cloud of feelings and wait. 

“Twinkle, Twinkle little star.” 

His voice is magic. I can feel a buzz of it in my fingertips. At first I think it hasn’t worked, but then. Then.

The air around us fills with tiny orbs of silver light. Stars. Like in the tower. He’s given me stars. 

I raise my hand to his chest and see the pattern on his stupid beautiful shirt is constellations. 

Suddenly I’m 18 and scared and excited and falling in love all over again. 

“Simon? Will you marry me?” 

“Yes. I’ll be your terrible husband.” I laugh through the tears on my face. My chest hurts and I feel dizzy and I’m so disgracefully and sickeningly in love. 

Real love now, though. Love that pulls you through. Love that knows all your dark secrets and doesn’t mind them. Love that makes you do the dishes when it’s your turn. Love that’s a surprise kiss on the way to the kitchen. Love that survives bad moods. Love that lets you in, that lets you let someone in. 

Love you build between you with every second that you stay. 

The little stars burst into flames. It makes the world around us glow and crackle.

Then he kisses me.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/186070339@N02/50428734671/in/dateposted-public/)


End file.
